Blades and Chains
by Micah Ortiz
Summary: crossing the elder scrolls: Skyrim, and dungeons and dragons. (sorry I can't think of a good description)
1. Chapter 1

Proria

Warm steam leaves my lips with every breath. My left shoulder throbs as blood trickles from the wound, a steel-tipped arrow protruding from my flesh. Heavy footfalls grow louder, accompanied by torchlight and shouts; digging through the folds of my fur cloak, i brandish a sharp dagger from the sheath fastened across my chest. A large figure rushes past, clad in iron armor with a torch in one hand and an axe in the other. Thrusting my left foot outward, i manage to catch their leg, causing them to stumble and drop the torch, the flame swallowed by snow with a hiss. "I foun-" shouts the figure in a man's voice, cut off when my dagger slips beneath his helmet and into his throat, his warning dissolving into a gargle as warm blood seeps over my blade. Crouching over his body, i slip my dagger into its sheath and take the man's axe, my long and slender tail flicking behind me. "Okay," i tell myself, "one down, three to go. I can do this." An armor-clad woman rushes from behind a tree with a shout, a steel sword raised over her head. I throw myself into a backward roll onto my feet before charging, skipping over the man's corpse with a small puff of snow. My axe catches her sword with a clash, and i deftly twist the blade from her grasp and drop it to the snow; she takes hold of the arrow shaft protruding from my shoulder and pushes it deeper, causing me to hiss in pain as i swing my axe into her left rib cage. Failing to pierce her armor, i opt to bash the blunt side of the weapon into her helmet, causing her to stagger backward while i swap my axe for the snow-covered sword. She pulls a dagger from her boot and rushes forward with a thrust. Easily sidestepping the smaller blade, i swing my stolen sword, the blade opening the right side of her neck and allowing dark, steaming blood to flow to the ground. Another arrow whistles past my head as i swing around, spotting a humanoid figure crouched under a tree, obscured by blowing snow. "Damn," i mumble. "Filthy slave!" comes a shout from behind me as a sharp pain causes my head to ring, resonating throughout my body.

My knees buckle under the pain, but instead of falling, i'm jerked back as a steel arm wraps around my neck. "You're going right back to the family you ran from," spits a deep, ragged voice that reeks of mead, "and this time, we'll make sure you don't escape." Fear and anger flood my veins as i throw my right elbow and head back simultaneously, earning a crack of bone and the pain of hitting metal; the arm at my neck loosens enough to twist free, locking my eyes on the figure ahead, now revealed to be a woman in studded leather armor with a longbow in her hand, an arrow nocked and drawn. I can't duck fast enough, so the arrow drives itself into my left bicep as i sprint forward with an angry snarl. Grappling the archer, i slide the sword's blade across her throat and drop her form to the snow, facing the only remaining guard, who now holds a steel mace. "You've killed three Imperial soldiers. I'm taking you back one way or another, i have no reservations with killing you."

"I'm not going to be easy prey and i'm not going back." i tell him, pointing the tip of my blade. We charge in unison, swinging our weapons in opposite directions. His mace connects with my right shoulder, botching a sword swipe aimed for his neck, instead forcing the blade into his shoulder. I cry out, pushing him away and thrusting my sword into his chest, warm blood seeping down the blade. "I'll never go back into serving you filthy Imperials. I'm going to free my family and kill every slaver i find, until my people are no longer taken from our homes and forced to work ourselves to death." With a final gargle, the man falls limp and slides from my sword, laying in a puddle of melted snow and blood. Fatigue and pain overtake my body as i gather the soldiers' lost weapons, wrap them in the archer's bloody cloak, hide the bundle in a snowbank, and drift to sleep under a large oak tree.

My eyes drift open as morning dew drips onto my nose, sending a shiver down my spine. My ears shift and twitch, picking up any unusual sounds. The forest is silent, save for singing birds, and rhythmic clopping of… horse hooves! Excitement builds as i scoop the bundle of weapons into my arms and stride toward the sound of horse-drawn carriages. The trees part on either side of a dirt path, a wooden carriage rolling past at a casual rate. "Excuse me!" i call, drawing the attention of a fair-skinned man in a plain brown tunic, who pulls the reins to stop two brown draft horses. "Morning, miss! How can i help you?" he says, running a hand through thick gold hair. "Could I trouble you for a ride to the nearest town?" i ask, tucking the bundle under my arm, ignoring the searing pain from arrows still in my arm and shoulder. His forest green eyes study my wounds carefully before widening in realization; "You're the escaped Khajiit slave the soldiers are after! They're offering three hundred gold pieces for your capture!" Just as a wave of greed and excitement crosses his eyes, the bundle of weapons falls to the ground, the mace clutched in my right hand as I rush forward and swing the steel head of the weapon across his left cheek, slumping him back over the edge of the carriage and to the ground. After gathering my bundle and finding a handful of gold coins and a simple dagger in the man's pockets, I climb onto the cart and flip the reins, spurring the horses to trot down the road. As the horses trudge along, i work up the nerve to pull the arrows from my flesh, hissing in pain as fresh air enters my wounds. Sucking in a deep breath, i rotate my shoulder slowly. My eye catches a large burlap sack, and curiosity takes over as i crawl back and pull the bag open, finding only two green apples and a potato.


	2. Chapter 2

Teleras

With my back against the wall, i pull the bowstring onto the catch and fix a bolt in place. My hand brushes the rapier at my hip as I lower the crossbow, mind racing for an escape route. "To hell with these damned Dwarves and their machines," i tell myself, setting my eyes on a window in a hall and draw my rapier with my right hand, crossbow in the other. I throw myself into a sprint through a hail of arrows and bolts, unscathed as i near the window; with an elated laugh, i raise my crossbow and fire the bolt through the glass before jumping through myself, jagged glass raking my hands and face. Rolling onto my feet after landing on a ceramic tile roof, a dwarven woman stands at the other end, a longbow raised and drawn. Ducking the arrow with a smirk, i sprint faster, raising my rapier as the woman curses and draws another arrow. She shouts in the complex dwarvish language, the only decipherable phrase to me being "filthy drow." The tip of my blade find its way into her stomach before i shove her over the roof's edge, never slowing in the slightest. Water crashes below, mingling with dwarven shouts and my own footsteps as I near the edge of the roof. "Shit!" I cry, falling forward as my foot slips on a loose tile, throwing me over a dark chasm of swirling water. My heart drops faster than I do as the wind whips my face, a wall of foamy water racing to meet me. My rapier and crossbow vanish from my grasp a moment before I'm swallowed by cold water with a sharp impact, pain and frost settling into my bones. Water swirls around me in a vast expanse of blue and black, giving no hint of orientation or direction. With a lazy kick, I force myself to swim upward, whether or not it's the right direction. My head bursts from the water, cold air chilling my face as I desperately gasp for breath. After what seems like an eternity, my hardened leather boots brush solid ground, bringing a small grin to my face. Panting and sore, I slowly pull myself to shore, resting my back against a large Birchwood tree. My eyes can no longer stay open, pulling me into a deep slumber.

Laughter fills my ears as she runs ahead. "Hurry up!" She calls, brushing silver hair from her face, jogging up the hill with determination and excitement. "I'm coming," I reassure her, climbing slowly, carefully keeping the velvet bundle hidden under my dark leather cloak. She reaches the top of the hill, planting herself under a twisted Obsiknot tree, the ebony bark starkly contrasting her deep blue skin. Sitting behind her, I produce the bundle, silently unwrapping the velvet. "It's starting," she whispers, just before hundreds of small, winged reptiles burst from the vast field of grass, vibrant lights of blue and green burning in their maws. My chest pounds as she watches the creatures intently, her silver eyes wide and mouth slightly agape; "Illyria," I tap her shoulder, "I present this gift to you as a sign of my love, in the hope that you return these sentiments, and will bless me with your hand." As she spins to face me, I hold up a dirk, the blade violet and the handle a deep gray. She stares down at the blade, tears welling in her eyes. "Tel.." she whispers, covering her mouth with her hands. "I love you, Illyria" I spin the dirk, the blade digging into my flesh. She gingerly takes the blade, staring at her own reflection in the metal. The small reptiles cast a flickering glow, shifting Illyria's eyes from silver, to a vibrant blue, to a bright green. After carefully wrapping the weapon in the velvet sheet, she throws her arms around my neck with a squeak, planting multiple kisses over my face. "I love you," she whispers, resting her head on my chest, our breaths falling in unison. Pressing my lips to her head, my heart soars with the Fyreflies, glowing with a burning joy, insurmountable. She hums softly, tracing the reptiles' paths with her left hand. The colors blend together, dark and light, green and blue, until everything is a vortex of indistinguishable colors and emotion. Joy and sadness interchange as her smooth, silky voice fills my head for a final time.

"I love you, Teleras."

Sunlight peels my eyes open, cheeks stained with tears. I sit up with a groan and pull up the leg of my pants, producing the violet and ebony blade that haunts my dreams. Staring at my own reflection in the blade, I flinch when Illyria's face appears briefly in the steel. Slipping the dagger back into place, I force myself to stand and start in a random direction, pulling the hood of my cloak over my head. My dreams are plagued by her face, my thoughts consumed by her voice. Quiet nights are few and far between, remaining conscious to escape the things I can't face. Never staying in one place long, I resort to thievery to acquire enough gold to finance my ventures down long and winding roads. The sound of her laugh brings sorrowful tears to my eyes, and her voice a pain in my lungs. Her last moments on this mortal world were that of a nightmare, filled with pain and fear, and I was helpless to stop it. Chatter and music fill the air as the trees give way to a large town, roads filled with people and horses. Pushing her face from my mind, I steer myself toward the sound of music, silently hoping for a market. My prayers are answered as I wander through the crowds of people, finding myself in a large field dotted with merchant stalls. I pass scriers and weavers, stopping at a jeweler's stall, a small structure made of wood with a banner hanging overhead. "How can I help you?" Greets a young girl no older than twelve, straightening her dark red dress. Wordlessly, I dig a golden ring from my cloak, a dark, ornate gem set in a bed of small sapphires, and drop it to the counter. Her mouth falls open as she takes the ring and retreats to a relatively frail man who's withered hands ghost over the ring. They approach together, the man stepping forward. "This is a very valuable ring. Where did you get it?" "I stole it," I say with a smirk, causing the man to chuckle lightly. "Drow and their jokes," he smiles, producing a leather pouch and dropping it to the counter "one hundred fifty gold pieces." With a nod, I take the pouch and start away, spotting a drow woman wrap her arms around the man's neck. The song of hammer and steel draws me toward an open area, a burly orc bashing heated steel with a large hammer. He thrusts the steel into a large furnace and turns to face me, wiping his brow with a rag; "Greetings, friend," I wave, tilting my head upward to meet his unwavering gaze. "Need somethin'?" He grumbles, wiping his hands on his dirty brown apron. "A sword and crossbow," I tell him, pouring three gold coins into his waiting hand, "light." I add. "Crossbow'll be ready tomorrow," the says, taking a well polished sword from a weapons rack and sliding it into a sheath. "My thanks," I tell him, taking the sword and starting on my way as I strap the sword to my left hip. Finding my way to a large building signed "The Red Mead",

the scent of brew and meat fills my nostrils as I push the door open. Music fills the air with the overpowering scent of alcohol, men and women laughing and dancing. Two women stand on a small stage, playing a flute and lute in unison; the flute player is a tall, thin woman with golden skin, pointed ears sticking from her long, blonde hair, while the lute player is a shorter woman with fair skin and curled brown hair, a sad smile on her face. "Welcome to the Red Mead, good sir! How can I help you on this jovial night?"


End file.
